Bloodlust
by hpluva2000
Summary: Erik is a vampire who has been exiled out of nearly every city in France. Currently in Paris, he is hiding in the Paris Opera in the guise as the infamous Opera Ghost But now, Erik has found himself thirsting for more than simply blood when he meets Chris
1. Chapter I

**Author's Note: My first shot at a phanfiction since I first fell love with Phantom in...January. Lolz...i know it's a real short period of time, but I think I've developed pretty nicely. **

Disclaimer: Me? Own this? Well, sure, why not! (recieves death glare from ALW, Kay, and Leroux) Okies...jeez fine, it's YOURS! (sulk)

* * *

He removed his mouth from her neck as he let her unconscious body slump to the ground. He slowly licked the blood from his lips, savoring it's warm, metallic taste.

"Thank you, mademoiselle, for an…eventful, evening," he said to the dead whore on the ground before him as he threw some coins next to her pale corpse. This was how Erik de Lestat lived night after night. Preying upon prostitutes and beggars. After all, he was a vampire. A cursed creature, made to live eternally in darkness, feeding on the lives of others; forced as well to wear a mask to hide his face, that was deformed beyond imagination. He had to remove it every time to drink, and the reaction of his victims wasn't pleasant. Good thing they didn't have to withstand the horror for long. It wasn't what one would call a wonderful life, but Erik needed to survive and this was the only way he knew how.

He stared pitifully at the dead woman. She looked rather stunning actually. She had long raven hair that contrasted with her pale features. Her emerald eyes, frozen open in terror, stared back at him lifelessly. She was probably no older than 15. Erik instantly hated himself for destroying something so young and beautiful, but it was too late to do anything now.

The hairs on the back of Erik's neck stood and his body tensed. Someone was watching. He returned his mask to his face, turned on his heel and saw through the darkness, a man and woman staring back and forth between him and the dead girl. For what seemed forever, they simply stared at each other…waiting. That is until the man whispered, "Murderer."

Erik's eyes widened with fear. This man would expose him, "MURDERER!" He cried out again, "HELP! THIS MAN IS A MURDERER! HE--" Erik lunged at the man with a cry, grabbed his head, and twisted it viciously to the right. A loud and sickening crack echoed throughout the alleyway.

"PHILLIPE! Oh my God, Philllipe!" screamed the woman. Erik instantly grabbed the her and clamped his jaws to her neck, mask be damned; it usually took about three gulps to kill a woman. As soon as her screaming ceased and her pulse was gone, Erik dropped the woman to the ground next to the raven-haired girl. He had to get out of town before he was captured and hung.

Hours later, Erik had just escaped the gendarmes of Marseilles that had attempted to capture him. _Perfect_, he thought miserably to himself. _Where am I supposed to go now? _He had been run out of nearly every damn city in France, he was already exiled from Persia, and he wasn't about to go to England. _Wait…Paris! _Yes, Paris was the one place Erik hadn't gone to yet. Perhaps he would run into Madeline Giry or Nadir. My, had it been years! And he hadn't been kicked out that city…yet. Yes, Paris would be perfect.

* * *

**COMTE DE CHAGNY AND WIFE DEAD**

23 May-Three people were found dead in an alleyway in Marseilles last night. Two of the bodies were identified as Le Comte Phillipe de Chagny and his wife, Comtess Sorelli de Chagny. The third body, a female's, could not have been identified. The Comte's neck was snapped towards the right and the two women suffered from severe blood loss. Doctors were able to discover fang marks on each of the necks of the Comtess and the unidentified girl. Doctors seem to think that an animal is responsible for this sad tragedy, police however reported that they were chasing a man that looked extremely suspicious. When asked about the crimes, the man froze and then ran off. No description could have been given. The situation is still under investigation. The Comte's brother, le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, shall now assume all duties as count, including patronage of the Opera Populaire in Paris…..

* * *

Three days. It took three long, grueling days for Erik to get to Paris. He didn't even stop during the daytime to get sleep. To protect himself from the sun, Erik had to keep his cloak over his head at all times, except during nighttime of course. But at last, Erik had finally reached his destination. It was very late into the evening. He knew he was going to regret it, but three days sucking the life out of deer and owls has left Erik with a yearning for human blood stronger than he had felt in a long time. It was time to go hunting.

* * *

Little Jammes had just walked out of the local pub, "Le Ivrogne." She had been so distraught about La Sorelli's death, she needed something to get her mind off of things. She walked down the streets of Paris, staggering, and apparently talking to someone who wasn't there.

"Sorelli! Sorelli, Goddamn you. We're late for rehearsal again. Madame Giry is going to be so upset with us. Sorelli!" Jammes suddenly tripped over her own feet and fell face first into a puddle of water. Not caring, she simply laid there on the ground, crying and hiccupping. After awhile, Jammes felt someone scoop up her clammy form from the ground. A voice…a man's voice was speaking to her.

"There, there child. It will be all right. You'll feel better soon enough."

Numerous fears played through Jammes' mind as the bodiless voice enveloped around her. somehow comforting her and yet sent chills down the length of her spine. She tried to scream out for help, but all the alcohol in her system fatigued her senses and she felt intolerably weak. Jammes looked into the man's face and saw he had golden eyes and…a white face. The man had began to sing to her, a soft lullaby in French. Jammes felt her consciousness slowly ebbing and she let herself pass out in the man's arms.

* * *

Erik stared at the drunken girl who had fallen asleep in his arms. She was probably even younger than the raven-haired girl. She had mouse brown hair and a soft complexion. Erik's eyes moved from her face to her neck. He stared at it for a long time, he could practically hear the blood rushing through her veins. Calling to him. He wanted it…he needed it.

He couldn't bear it any longer. Erik lifted the girl upright and slowly passed his lips over her neck, searching for the blood vessel. When he had found it, he slipped his mask off of his face, opened his mouth and sank his sharp fangs into the girl.

* * *

Little Jammes gasped and awoke as she felt a sharp pain stab at her neck. She wrenched herself from the grip of the mysterious man and her hand instantly flew to her neck. She felt a wet, sticky substance cover her fingers. When she brought her hand in front of her eyes, she screamed at sight. Blood completely covered her hand and was still gushing out of her neck. But when Jammes looked into the face of the man, she could've died of fright.

It was the most horrible face she had ever seen. It was red raw as though it had been severely burned. She could see his veins, scars, and bone into the twisted and distorted flesh. He didn't seem to have a nose, only and empty hole stood in it's place.

Jammes screamed even louder and ran from the man.

* * *

Erik was now panicking slightly. Barely two hours in Paris, and already he was starting something. Erik swiftly replaced his mask on his face and ran after the escaped girl. She was wounded, she wouldn't get far. He had caught up to the girl and an open street. He wrapped her arms around her waist and pulled her body into his.

"Where do you think you're going, mon cherie?" he growled menacingly.

"Please, monsieur," the girl cried, "I don't want to die! Please don't kill me."

"NO!" Erik shouted as he twisted his fingers into the girl's hair and pulled her head back, exposing her still bleeding neck, "You have seen my face. No one EVER lives to remember my face." The girl still continued to struggle and scream. Erik decided to end it quick before she aroused attention. Erik placed his mouth on the exact spot where the wound still was and gulped as though he were drinking water. With each gulp the girl's pleas and shouts grew fainter.

Not long after, the girl had ceased screaming and Erik was indulging himself in the taste of human blood. He had at last felt satisfied, but this is the second time he had endangered himself in one week. He decided to dump the body and find the cemetery so he could get some long awaited sleep.

Erik carried the dead child over his shoulder and tried to find a dark and empty alleyway to put her. Guilt stabbed at him again. Why was he so attracted to the blood of young and beautiful women? Why did they always succumb to him so quickly without ever becoming suspicious? Why did they scream and run as soon as they caught sight of his face? They had nothing but loved him mere seconds before. His face was his curse. All of his life, he been merely a monster to the world. It had driven everyone he had ever known away from him, even his mother. Everyone except for Nadir and dear, Madeline Giry. Only they had sympathized for him.

Erik sighed and pushed his thoughts away from his mind. He had found a perfect corner to tuck the girl away in. Just when he was setting her down, he heard someone one loudly clear his throat behind him. Erik turned and saw a tall man with copper colored skin, a fairly distinguishable moustache, and a gendarmes' uniform.

"Good evening, monsieur. May I ask wha-" The man's eyes widened as he caught sight of Erik's' mask and stared at him in complete amazement.

"Erik?"

Erik was confused. How did this stranger know him? He looked closely at the man and realization suddenly hit him.

"Daroga?"

**Author's Note: Yayz! Tell me wat u think! R&R **


	2. Chapter II

**Chapter II**

**A/N: Yeah…I know I put this chapter up already, but I just got finished reading the Susan Kay version, and I know I could make this chapter so much better. It's basically the same thing, just a teeny bit different. Enjoy! (I'll explain why I didn't update in a long time later)**

Erik could hardly believe it. His old friend and savior, Nadir Khan, once the daroga of Persia, now stood before him as the chief of police in Paris. He had a dead girl in his clutches. A girl _he_ had killed to satisfy his greed, after that promise he made Nadir many years ago. "_No more wanton deaths."_ Nadir didn't know Erik was a vampire in those days. No one did. He had kept the secret to himself the entire time he was in Persia. Butconsidering where Erik stood in the situation now, this surely would not end well.

"Nadir, I-"

The Persian held up his hand to silence him.

"Before you say anything Erik, let me take a good look at you!" Erik was nonplussed and in a moment's notice, Nadir had him in a rib-cracking embrace, making the dead girl slip from his arms.

"Daroga," he gasped out as he wormed his way free of the Persian's grasp and straightened out his cloak, "What is the matter with you, man? You know I detest physical contact!"

At this Nadir burst out laughing thoroughly irritating Erik, "Still as cynical as ever, eh, you old dog?"

"Yes," he replied roling his eyes and arching an unseen eyebrow at his companion. Nadir let out a sigh of contentment and seemed to regain his air of seriousness. He bent down and studied the corpse at his feet. He saw the holes in her neck where Erik had bitten her. He felt a pang of guilt as he saw the horror dawning in his face.

"I think you better explain this, Erik."

Surprisingly, he tripped over his own words, "I…well, she…er…uh…um…you see, Daroga, I…hmm." Nadir let out fresh peals of laughter as Erik stood appalled by his frivolity. "Damn it, Daroga! What the hell is so hilarious?"

The Persian wiped at his eyes, "Allah! I wish I could've seen your face! I'd never though I'd see the day that you of all people would stammer like a common _imbecile_!"

Imbecile, was he? As Nadir chuckled on, Erik felt that familiar murderous rage creep up inside him, "Daroga, do not make me break out my lasso."

Nadir instantly stopped laughing and gave him a look that dared him to do so, but he shrugged and said, "Don't waste that precious energy of yours, Erik. You couldn't kill me if you tried."

He stared apprehensively at the Persian, "What do you mean by that?"

Nadir laughed again, revealing every single one of his teeth. Erik could clearly see a pair of bloodstained fangs.

"Nadir...when...?"

"Ages ago," he said simply, "In fact the very night I helped you escape. You were pretty right about the shah punishing me...but the khanum wanted to see to it herself."

Erik blanched, "The khanum!"

"The very same. Why else do you think she was interested in you?"

Erik grimaced, remembering just how interested the khanum was in him. He was a fool to think that no one would know about him for three years in Persia, especially someone as powerful as the khanum.

Nadir continued, "She bit me, but didn't drink enough to kill me," Nadir's eyes suddenly filled with the terrible memory of that night, "I had to suffer the pain…the _agony_, for hours." Erik briefly imagined Nadir lying in a heap on the ground, pitching a fit and screaming like hell was after him as he passed into the world of the living dead. Knowing her perverse sense of humor, the khanum would've enjoyed watching this unearthly means of torture. God, how many people had she converted into vampires before Erik's time? And she still wasn't satisfied! He was sent to come up with more inhuman tortures to delight her like the disgusting child she was! Erik balled his shaking hands into fists of rage. The Persian sighed, "When the khanum grew bored of watching me, she left and as soon as I thought it was over I fled the country and came here to hopefully find you," he spread his hands in an obvious gesture.

Erik's gut was burning with anger and guilt. He placed a hand on Nadir's shoulder, "I am so sorry, Daroga. This happened to you because of me."

Nadir shrugged his hand off, "No need for apology Erik. If it makes you feel any better, before I left Persia, I met with the shah…and had a drink." He grinned proudly.

Erik laughed outright, "Left with a bang, didn't you Nadir?"

"I couldn't exactly resist the opportunity, my friend."

"Tell me, what happened when you came here?"

"Turns out I was dealt the same fate as you."

"Fate?" Erik asked, unsure of what he was talking about.

Nadir held out an abandoned edition of "Le Époque " from May 23, "I can only think of one person who can deal out such a grisly death. I cam to Paris to try to find some work. I was weary of poverty. It was hard, however, to come by a night job, so I decided to the two things I do best. I became daroga through…influence, let's say, and I took the night shift for myself. Anyone lawbreakers I find, well…" he gave an uncharacteristically evil smile, which took Erik aback.

"Well, you've certainly changed," Erik said, smirking, "so no one suspects you?"

"As far as I've been able to see, no," Nadir said, "I sleep in police headquarters during the day and take my shift at dusk."

"Speaking of sleep, Daroga, where, pray tell, can I find a cemetery? I haven't slept in ages."

"Nadir stared aghast at Erik, "A cemetery? You've been reduced to sleeping in graveyards? By the Prophet, I won't have any of that." He set off in a quick pace, "Leave the body, Erik, and follow me. I know a place you might enjoy staying in."

Erik walked briskly beside him, "Where are you taking me, Daroga?"

"Trust me, Erik. It's someplace very nice. It's where I sometimes dump bodies I've drank from."

"Sounds charming," Erik said dryly.

Nadir smirked, "Yes, it is, in fact. Ah, here we are!" He lead Erik to the front of a large and exquisite building with large letters over its marble columns that read, "Le Opera Populaire."

Erik thought this strange, "The Paris Opera? You dump bodies in the opera house, Nadir?"

He gave an appreciative chuckle, "No, no, old friend. Come, it's just back here." Nadir lead Erik around the back of the luxuriant building. His patience was now waning, but he was curious. The Persian stopped in front of a wrought iron gate. He wrapped his fists round the metal bars, pulled with all his might, and the gate came clean off.

"After you," Nadir said, gesturing towards the entranceway. Erik stepped through into the darkness, with Nadir coming in behind him, replacing the gate like he was closing a door. They walked through the pitch-black darkness as though they were walking though a lighted hallway. They were going down a seemingly never ending staircase; twisting and turning through labyrinthine tunnels, the Persian occasionally saying, "No, no, Erik, this way," or "Make sure you sure you skip every other step." He was unbearably confused and his patience was at its peak when Nadir suddenly stopped and Erik walked straight into him.

"Daroga, where the hell are we?"

"You new home, Erik. Welcome to the fifth cellar of the Paris Opera." Erik stared at his surroundings and saw that it was similar to a cavern with many separate rooms. A sort of morbid apartment.

"Nothing against you, of course Erik," Nadir said, "but this Opera is to rival the palace you built in Mazanderan."

"Is that so?"

"Oh yes, this place is teeming with trapdoors and secret passageways. No one comes down here anyway," he grinned, "Superstitious theatre folk, the lot of them." Nadir pressed his hand against the wall behind him and the portcullis lifted, "You can take the boat down there to cross the lake. I usually take the corpses to the old Commune dungeons. Beyond that I shouldn't have to explain further. You've always had an impeccable sense of direction." Nadir smiled as he saw Erik's eyes fill with ideas and plans for his new home, "I must leave you no, but if you need anything, you should really have no trouble finding me. Au revior, mon ami."

Nadir turned to leave through the same passageway they came, when Erik called out after him, "Hold it, Nadir. Before you leave, I do need something."

"What is it?"

A grim smile played on Erik's lips, "A coffin…"

* * *

Erik remembered when he was young, very shortly before he became a vampire, the gypsy carnival. He was called "The Living Corpse." Night after night, he would perform inside a coffin and attract throngs of people with his voice. At the end, he was forced to remove his mask to meet the screams and taunting of dozens of people.

He had the face of a dead man and now his mortal soul was gone too. He had literally become the Living Corpse. Shouldn't corpses rest in coffins. He and Nadir managed to steal a stone one from the cemetery and bring it back to Erik's new home. It was the only thing that furnished it thus far, and it wasn't suited at all to Erik's taste, but it would have to do-- for now anyway.

Nadir stared at the coffin before he left and laughed, "The only thing this place needs now is a ghost. Maybe a witch, perhaps?" Erik laughed with him, but something he said made him think.

A ghost, huh?

Ghosts were rather interesting subjects. Mysterious specters of those thought long gone, usually haunting large buildings. They bring chaos, fear…and power wherever they go. It was a truly mad idea, but Erik decided this was an opportunity he could not miss. It grew dreadfully boring having to steal clothes from the homes of wealthy men. It wouldn't hurt to apply a salary. Nadir had said himself that these people were superstitious. They'd eat this up.

Erik awoke to the sound of screams coming from God knows where. Nadir had warned him this would happen. He climbed out of his coffin and followed the ungodly shrieks, after nearly a quarter of an hour, he found himself walking the rafters above the stage where the sceneshifters took their posts. Erik cringed as the screaming cut through the air again. He looked down below and saw a burlesque looking man chasing a group of girls (dancers by the look of them) with a hangman's noose.  
"He haunts this place, I tell you! A wretched ghost so ugly, he hides his face with a mask. A DEVIL'S FACE, I SAY!" He brandished the tied catgut at the young women and they all gasped and giggled, "Careful how you tread, my dears. For the Opera Ghost has a frightful temper and just might catch you with his magical lasso."

Erik stood rooted to the spot, to amazed to move. He had never met the man in his life and somehow he had described nearly every aspect about him. Only he had referred to him as the "Opera Ghost." This was perfect! The foundation was already set for his new comfortable existence at the Opera Populaire. His thoughts were then disturbed by a screeching voice.

"JOSEPH BUQUET!"

Erik's jaw dropped in utter disbelief. Madeline Giry marched furiously towards the man who was no doubt Buquet and slapped him hard across the face. The ballet girls gasped and Erik took a sharp intake of breath through his teeth.

Stop frightening the girls, Joseph," she said menacingly, "They have rehearsal tomorrow and they don't need a ridiculous 'Opera Ghost' in their heads." She snatched the noose from his hands and brought her face up to his. Her eyes flashed dangerously, "You should take care of who you speak of, Joseph." She whispered, "It brings bad karma."

As she screeched for the other girls to get to their beds, Erik felt truly grateful for the woman. He knew why she had reacted so strongly to Buquet's story. She knew that Erik had the odd ability of overhearing any conversation that mentioned him. And if it was bad enough to evoke his wrath, the offensive person would usually be found the following day with blood streaming from his neck. But from what Erik could see, it wasn't so much that Madame Giry feared for Buquet's life, but it was simply her protective way. Erik smiled; he now had an ally within the walls of the building. All he head to do was let her know he was there.

Madame Giry was making her rounds of all the boxes, making sure everything is as it should be for tomorrow's final performance for the season. She reached box five and entered to see if the velvet curtains were in place. They were shut and she put down the lantern she carried with her to open them. A curious draft entered the box, slamming the door shut and knocking the lamp over, extinguishing it.

Madame Giry cursed under her breath and slowly made her way towards the door. She tried to pull the door open, but it wouldn't budge. In her futile attempts to open the door, she could've sworn she heard a dark chuckle in her ear and a voice whisper, "Madeline Giry…It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Who are you? Let me out of here at once!"

"My dear, Madame Giry, I'm crushed! Don't even remember good old friends?"

"Friend? Who-" The gas lights in the box flicked on and an unusually tall and skinny man seemed to appear out of thin air. The white mask on his face screamed memories at Madeline. She sank into one of the armchairs, "Oh Lord…Erik?"

"Actually, Madeline," he said, "for the time being, I'd rather be known as the Phantom of the Opera."

* * *

"I have a message for you, monsieurs," Madame Giry said to the new managers of the Opera Populaire, Richard Firmin and Gilles Andre. Firmin took the letter she held out to him and stared at it curiously. It was addressed in red ink "To the Managers of the Opera" and sealed with a wax skull.

"Madame Giry, who is this letter from?" asked Andre.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, monsieur." She said, "I simply have my orders to deliver it to you."

Firmin opened the mysterious envelope, took out the single sheet of paper and read:

_Dear Mr. Managers: _

_Welcome to the Opera Populaire. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Opera Ghost. Whether you believe in me or not, that is your problem, but I have certain demands that must be followed and I do not have the time or patience to deal with your beliefs. _

_Box five on the grand tier should be lift for my personal use. It should be available to me at every performance, whether I'm in attendance or not. _

_Be advised if there are any unwanted dancers, musicians, chorus members, etc., they should be promptly sacked. I will be observing many performances and shall inform you who the unlucky individuals are. If you do not deal with them, I will do so personally_

_Finally, the most difficult of my demands, but that does not mean I will be lenient. I require a salary of twenty thousand francs a month. _

_As absurd as these demands might be, I assure you, gentlemen, serious action will be taken if I am disobeyed. If you have any doubts, be sure to ask you predecessor, Monsieur Lefevre, about me. I will inform you when your salary is due._

_O.G_

"Andre, take a look at this!" Firmin said passing the letter to his colleague. He read it quickly, his face growing more contorted with anger.

"TWENTY THOUSAND FRANCS!" he yelled, his eyes bulging, "Who does he think he is ordering us around like he owns the damn place!" Andre tore the letter in pieces and threw it into the burning hearth.

Firmin, however, was superstitious and was feeling rather nervous, "But…Andre, what if there really _is_ a ghost?"

"Firmin, have you gone completely MAD? There is no ghost! Someone is trying to make idiots out of us! Ghost, indeed."

"But Andre, think about it." Firmin interjected, "Lefevre was the manager here for less than a year. He retired far too soon. Perhaps we _should_ ask him."

"How in God's name do you expect to ask him?" Andre yelled, "He's in Frankfurt!"

"Excuse me, monsieurs," Madame Giry said, "If I were you, I would take heed to the letter. Things do tend to happen in this Opera."

"You see!" Firmin said, his fears confirmed, "Let's just leave box five empty for tonight's performance. No harm in that, is there?"

Andre passed his fingers through his graying hair, "Fine. We'll see what this ridiculous… 'ghost' has to say." He left the office and Firmin went behind him, giving a sigh of relief.

Madame Giry smiled to herself. This was extortion at its fullest, but that was Erik for you. Always planning and scheming. She had filled him in on everything about the Opera and the managers. As she walked into her dormitory, a letter fluttered out of nowhere above her head to her feet. She opened it carefully and chuckled it as she read it:

_Thank you, Madeline. When my salary comes along, I must remember to buy you a new shawl. _


	3. Chapter III

**Chapter III**

**A/N: I'm super freakin sorry everyone. Summer really really sucked for me. I got sorta put on house arrest. No computer. ( I'm always getting in trouble. But thankfully, school has computers, so "Bloodlust" is back! So…lemme shut up and just get on with it before you guys murder me.**

Erik observed the evening's opera from box five that evening. He kept the lights off in the box, shrouding himself in darkness. Since he declared himself the spectral "owner" of the Opera Populaire, the whole place was like a raving hellhole, which greatly amused Erik. The thing that seemed to bother everyone the most was the twenty thousand francs; but one way or another he would get it. He would definitely make sure of that.

"Well, Erik, you've certainly adapted yourself quickly to your new surroundings." Erik turned to see Nadir's astonishing hazel eyes shining clearly though the darkness. "From the moment I set foot in the building, all I hear are rumors about a ghost sitting in Box 5 and demanding an outrageous salary from the managers." The Persian smirked, his pointed fangs protruding slightly, "Funny how quickly news spreads in Paris."

"Daroga, how the hell did you get in here?" Erik asked, turning back to the performance, extremely annoyed, "This is supposed to be a private box."

"I believe I know this Opera better than you, Erik." Nadir said taking a velvet-cushioned seat beside him.

"Not for long," Erik responded with a faint smile, "I wasn't called the Trap-Door Lover for nothing. Don't you remember, Daroga?"

Nadir laughed, "Yes, yes I do. You're quite the magician, my friend but I believe you have the advantage. I don't believe many people are skilled vampires. Especially as long as you have been."

Erik gave Nadir a look, as if he didn't want or needed to be reminded what he was. His eyes looked towards the door, "What is Darius standing at the door for? Please, don't tell me you are expecting someone, Nadir?" he said with a groan

"Yes, in fact, I am. I hope you don't' mind, Erik."

He gave an exasperated sigh, "I suppose so. You've already invaded my private box."

As soon as the worlds left his mouth, a faint knock sounded at the door. Nadir grinned and glanced at his pocket watch, "Excellent, she's right on time. Let her in, Darius."

Erik's eyes widened, "She?"

The Persian's servant opened the door and a delicate, very beautiful woman entered the box. She had large, exotic eyes, ruddy-brown skin, voluptuous lips, and a curtain of brown hair that displayed her all-too-obvious Middle Eastern descent. She had a distant, oblivious look in her eyes. Her scarlet, silk gown bared no modesty especially around the bosom area.

"Nadir…?" Erik said slowly, begging for an explanation.

"Erik, allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Alanna Harajid." He said in a disgustingly over cheerful voice, "A murderess and a thief." He added grimly, "She's killed at least six wealthy oil merchants across the Middle East, went after their families, and stole their entire fortunes. I caught her last night on the run."

"And you hypnotized her into coming here?"

"Of course not. Darius did."

Erik stared at the manservant and back at the woman, "But…he's no vampire?"

"Oh no," Nadir said, "He just found a very good book."

Erik could probably guess which book, "What is she doing here, Nadir?"

The woman seemed oblivious to what they were saying, but Nadir still leaned over and whispered to Erik, "I thought that we should perhaps celebrate your arrival to Paris."

Erik grabbed Nadir forcibly by the collar of his shirt and hissed, "Daroga, have you gone completely mad? If she screams in here, we're done for!"

"But she's not going to scream, Erik." Nadir said, shifting his eyes towards Darius and blinking furiously.

"Oh!" Erik said, fully understanding exactly what the Persian wanted him to do. Nadir nodded curtly towards Darius, who snapped his fingers and immediately left the box. The girl blinked a few times and buried her aching head in her hands. Her mouth dropped open as she stared at the dress she was wearing.

"Where the hell am I?" she blurted out in Pashtu. She looked up at Erik, who had gotten up from his seat, "Who-?" Before she could finish, Erik placed his cupped hand over her mouth.

"_Be silent_." He commanded, "Don't say a word. Don't make any noise and I assure you…it'll be a lot less painful."

Alanna had not the faintest clue what he was talking about. She hoped it wasn't what she thought it was. Unwillingly, she didn't say a word, the only sound hear was her own throbbing heartbeat. She noticed the unusual eyes of the strange masked man. They were gold as though Midas had touched them himself. Even more unusual, they seemed to be contracting and swelling in time with her heartbeat as though he were plunging in and out of some abysmally dark place. Alanna felt her hands fall limply at her sides and the same blissfully unknowing feeling she had felt only moments before had returned. All she could think about were those eyes. Oh, those beautiful golden orbs.

Erik lowered his face to her neck. He lifted his mask away from his face but didn't remove it entirely. He licked his lips like a wild animal and opened his mouth to fasten it onto her throat, but he caught sight of Nadir waiting eagerly on the edge of his seat. Erik clamped his jaws shut and replaced his mask. He wouldn't bite the little wench just yet. He would have some well-deserved fun first.

"Erik!" Nadir hissed, "What are you doing?"

He ignored the Persian circled Alanna closely, observing her, "Tell me, Miss Harajid," he said in her native tongue, "why has the _chief of police_ brought you here tonight?"

Instantly and miraculously, she came out the spell when the words were uttered. She turned, aghast with horror, to Nadir, who was indeed, wearing his uniform. All at once, she remembered everything. Breathing heavily with panic, Alanna made to run for the door, but Erik grabbed both her forearms and turned her back towards him.

Usually, Alanna was very headstrong in these situations. She'd have a man dead on the ground in a split second. But the way he was staring at her doused her in fear. It was so…unnatural. Like he could see _though_ her. Past her dress…her corset...her chemise. Everything revealed under that empowering, unwavering gaze. Alanna shuddered and felt her skin crawl.

She remembered something else. Her corset! She wrenched her arm from Erik's grasp and plunged her hand into her bodice. She brought out a small switchblade knife and snapped it open in front of him. Erik looked slightly amused. He hadn't expected this. Nadir had gotten up, but Erik held up his hand indicating that he would handle it.

"Miss, if I were you, I would put that knife away right now." He said as he was walking slowly towards her. Alanna was backing away from him and in an act of desperation, she closed her eyes and slashed blindly at the air. She felt the knife cut through his flesh. She opened her eyes and saw that Erik's neck was bleeding heavily and spilling out onto the floor…but it didn't seem to affect him in the slightest. He laughed, filled with a cold, contemptuous mirth and as if by some sick miracle, the terrible gash in Erik's throat instantly healed. Alanna stared in mute horror. He backed her to the door of the box and pinned her against it with his body.

Her own body throbbed with…with…was it terror? Dear Allah, she hoped it was. She tried to stab him in the stomach, but he caught her wrist and twisted it, making Alanna drop the knife to the ground. Her body writhed against his. Erik turned his head to look at Nadir and was pleased to see he looked very angry and annoyed. He smirked as he purred in the woman's ear, "I warned you to put that knife away, didn't I?"

She was trapped. Surely this is a penance for past actions. She knew she wouldn't get of this the same ever again, so she decided to prepare herself for the worst, "What are you going to do with me?"

Erik pressed his forehead against hers; the white leather of his mask meeting her clammy forehead, "Let's find out shall we?"

Alanna's eyes widened and she gasped as he caught her lips in a kiss, the only way that a true born Frenchman could. She gave a muffled squeal of protest and tried her hardest to break free, but Erik was holding her tightly by her wrists and refused to let go. Inside her mind, she was screaming…but, though she hated to admit it, his kiss was just as empowering as his gaze. Betrayed by her body, Alanna had stopped resisting and moreover begun to enjoy it. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around Erik's neck bringing him deeper into her mouth.

Nadir gaped at Erik and Alanna as their breathing became more rapid and tense. He gave a start of surprise as she began to unbutton Erik's blood soaked shirt. He decided this had gone on long enough and was time to put an end to it.

"Erik…" But he wasn't listening. He seemed to be far too preoccupied pulling up the girl's skirts up past her thigh. "Erik!" the Persian said sharply. Erik gave Nadir a deadly glare over Alanna's shoulder, "Tonight, would be wonderful, if you please?" Erik gave another scathing look, rolled his eyes, and bit hard into Alanna's tongue.

Alanna instantly drew back and her tongue slit open. She tried her mightiest to scream, but all she could do was choke on the blood that was gathering profusely in her mouth and pouring out like a crimson waterfall. She ran again to the door of the box and rattled the locked doorknob. This time, Nadir got up from his seat, grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her swiftly towards him.

"My apologies, Miss." He said giving Erik a hard look, "You needn't had gone through all this if Erik had gotten it done earlier. So I suppose I'm going to have to handle it myself." Nadir opened his mouth and his fangs elongated as he sank them deep into Alanna's neck. Her muscles became taut with pain as she clawed at Nadir's back and arms. But still he consumed her life in rapid gulps.

Erik stared at Nadir, astonished by his sudden transformation, "Christ, Daroga. I never knew you could be so vicious."

Nadir wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, "Well, you _did_ leave me waiting an excruciating amount of time with your little rendezvous. You have a lot of god awful fun, don't you?" Erik chuckled as Nadir propped the bloodied woman in his arms, "Won't you join me, Erik?"

"Not now, Daroga." He said as he re-buttoned his shirt, most of it now red, and turned back to the performance. The ballet was good, no noticeable mistakes. The orchestra could be better and the chorus was forgivable. However…

The lead sopranos were a pair of talent less, conceited, and overdressed fools. Erik watched them with complete disgust. "Daroga, are you watching this? What were the managers thinking casting them as the lead? The man is bad, but that woman! A dying cat can reach a not better than her? Who are they?"

He flipped angrily though the program Madame Giry had left for him earlier. Nadir answered for him, "They happen to be the world renowned couple Ubaldo Piangi and Carlotta Giudicelli." Erik groaned with recognition, "You are right," Nadir continued, "Piangi isn't not so bad, but La Carlotta is the biggest prima donna on this side of Seine. She has the manager worship the very ground she spits on."

"Something needs to be done about her." Erik murmured.

"Nothing can be done, Erik." Said the Persian. "She's the only soprano they've got that can…er…sing the lead parts."

"You forget, Daroga, this is _my_ Opera now." Erik said. "I don't care if it has to be that dying cat, she will be replaced."

"Here Erik, take a drink before the blood dries." Nadir said passing the dead girl to hi. Erik took her cold, limp wrist and slipped off his mask. He tore at the flesh and drank deeply.

Towards the end of the opera, he asked Nadir, "Before I forget, Daroga, do you have a pen and paper?" The Persian searched through his pockets and pulled out a pen and pad and handed it without question to Erik.

He scribbled on the paper and then turned to Nadir, "Daroga, this pen does not work."

"Perhaps it needs to be refilled."

Erik looked down at the dead woman in front him. Her blood was still flowing freely where he and Nadir had bitten her, "Ah well," he said, "It'll give the letter a more macabre affect anyway."

* * *

The managers and Madame Giry all headed towards box five immediately after the performance. "Thank God the vicomte was not around to hear all of this nonsence." Andre said. "I didn't see anyone sitting in the box the entire time. Did any of you?" Firmin shook his head mutely. Madame Giry said nothing. Andre rammed the key into the door of box five, turned the knob, and pushed the door open.

Both men drew back coughing and hacking into their sleeves. Madeline kept her composure, but she still felt her heartbeat quicken substantially. The box reeked of blood, enough to make anyone gag.

"What in God's name happened in here?" Firmin demanded to know. All three peered into the box and saw on the red velvet armchair was a carefully folded piece of paper addressed in the same scarlet ink. Madame Giry stepped inside and winced as she felt the carpet beneath her feet. Parts of it were completely soaked. She could imagine with what. She picked up the paper with shaking hands and smeared some of the ink. Madeline felt the texture and gulped, 'It's blood." She told the managers as they finally entered the box.

The door, at that instant, slammed behind them. Andre and Firmin let out a cry. The mahogany door was splattered with red. _My God,_ Madame Giry thought.

"Open it." Andre urged her. "Open it Madeline." She unfolded the paper, written in more blood, her eyes darting back and forth quickly as she read it.

"What does it say?"

Madame Giry handed the letter to the managers:

_Gentlemen:_

_Not bad for my first performance. Some things need to be worked on, but I will be lenient for today. There is something else that I need to discuss with you._

_You lead sopranos, Monsieur Piangi and Miss Giudicelli. Piangi, is forgiveable, but obviously, you two men are tone deaf and I truly sympathize for you because you have come up with poor excuse for a singer. I ask that you replace her before the new season begins. If you fail to do so, I will myself. I suggest you take responsibility, gentlemen, not only for Miss Giudicelli's sake, but for yourselves as well. _

_Please compliment Madame Giry on her excellent work with the dancers. My salary is to be due at the end of the month. _

_O.G._

_P.S.- I suppose you are wondering about the smell in the box, I apologize, but I suggest you get used to it because it is going to be around often._

The two men glanced at each other. Firmin had an "I-told-you-so" look.

"We're not dealing with something normal here, Andre."

"Don't you think I know that!" he snapped back. He crumpled the letter in his hand and stormed out of the box, ""We're going to get to the bottom of this! Whoever thinks they're going to get away with this has got another thing coming to them!" Firmin stamped out with him and Madame Giry, crossing herself silently, followed closing the door slowly behind her.

* * *

Erik and Nadir were carrying the dead body between them, taking a winding staircase towards the abandoned Communist dungeons. They were discussing the abysmal role of La Carlotta, Erik criticizing her mercilessly when he heard a faints sound. _(A/N: I don't own the following)_

_Pie Jesu…Pie Jesu…Pie Jesu…Pie Jesu._

"Nadir," he whispered excitedly, "do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Quiet and listen!" They fell silent as they heard the distant sound start again.

_Pie Jesu…Pie Jesu…Pie Jesu…Pie Jesu._

The Persian nodded, "Yes, I hear it alright. Someone singing…I believe it's coming from the chapel"

"Lead the way, Daroga." Erik said. Leaving the body abandoned they both made their way closer towards the voice, growing louder, clearer, and more beautiful.

_Qui tollis peccata mundi. Dona eis requiem. Dona eis requiem._

Erik and Nadir were staring through a small iron grate in the wall inside the dimly lit chapel. They could see a young girl in her late teens, kneeling in front of a row of candles.

"Why that's Christine Daae." Said the Persian.

Erik turned his head so quickly he cricked his neck. "Daae?" He muttered as he rubbed his neck. "As in the violinist, Gustave Daae?"

"I believe the very same."

Erik stared curiously at the child who had immediate blood ties to a great musician. He stood in wonder at the awesome beauty of her voice. But it was filled with familiar grief and discontentment. He listened to her pray.

"Papa, I miss you. I hope you are well. It is the eve of my twentieth birthday today. I remember the promise you made me every year. 'The Angel of Music will come to you one day.' Countless days have passed and tomorrow I will no longer be a silly, ridiculous girl." Tears began to fall down her cheeks. "I must come to face the truth of reality. I will no longer wait for the Angel of Music. He will not come. It is too late now…"

Erik stared bewildered at the girl's sudden revelation. A belief she fostered from childhood was now destroyed. He could only imagine her disappointment, after years of waiting only to be left with absolutely nothing. Erik wished he could do something for this truly talented girl. His eyes suddenly lit up with an idea. Perhaps there was hope for Christine after all.

Nadir sensed something, "Erik? What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking, Nadir," he said slowly, "that Miss Daae is going to get her angel after all."

The Persian laughed. "Erik, surely, you must be joking!" Silence. Nadir's laughter died. "Dear Allah, you're not joking."

"When have you not known me to be serious, Daroga?"

Nadir considered the question. "You're not an opium addict again, are you?"

"No." Erik said dryly.

"But, Erik…think about it. You're a vampire that has become the Paris Opera's resident ghost. Shouldn't you take this one supernatural being at a time?"

"Daroga, you've just made the point yourself. I am the Opera Ghost. I have made it my self-proclaimed duty to run this Opera. This girl could easily replace that wretched woman in an instant. All she needs is some training. Who better to train her?"

"I've also made another point." Nadir said. "You are a vampire, albeit one that's lost control."

Erik gave a sharp look. "What are you saying, Nadir?"

"I'm saying that you squander about killing without even considering the consequences."

"Consequences?" Erik yelled. "If I am not mistaken, you are a vampire as well."

"But a Least I am more discreet in my approach." Nadir said. "Take tonight for example. That girl was supposed to be done quick, clean, and easy. Instead, you left a pool of blood inside the box."

"At least there will be no more doubts about the Phantom." Erik said.

"I'm warning you, Erik," said the Persian, "If you plan to teach Christine, and have her live long enough to replace Carlotta, you're going to have to resist every urge in your body." They both turned to look at Christine through the iron gate, "I'd have to have to be called in her to investigate a rape and murder."

"Rape?" Erik asked, surprised, "How in God's name do you know there's going to be a rape?"

"I've seen your hospitality towards your more preferred victims."

Erik scoffed, but in his mind, he knew Nadir had a point. _Angel of Music. _He was going to be an Angel of Music. For whatever reason unknown to him, he slipped off his mask, and ran his pale fingers across his deformed cheek. Nadir was surprised by his action.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Erik said. "Someone as damned as me to become an angel."

Nadir couldn't find anything to say to this. Instead, he asked, "So, how do you plan to get her attention?" Erik replaced his mask and smirked at Nadir.

"Watch this."

* * *

Christine was still on her knees praying when a breeze flowed in through the chapel, extinguishing all of the candles. Her eyes flew open and she immediately became frightened to find herself alone in the dark.

"…_Christine…"_

Her heart pace grew quicker. She could've sworn she heard her name, but she couldn't be sure. Christine slowly rose to her feet. "Is there anybody here?"

"…_Christine…"_

The faint voice called out to her again. Christine put her hands in front of her and began to wander blindly, "Meg, is that you?"

"…_Christine…"_

"Joseph Buquet, if this is supposed to be a joke, it is not funny!" She was now running aimlessly and she cried out in pain as she scraped her outstretched hands on the hard stone wall."

"_Stop running Christine!"_

The voice seemed to control her. Powerful and demanding. She felt it grab her shoulders and turn her slowly. She began to tremble uncontrollably, "Who…who are you?"

"A friend."

Christine felt even more frightened, "Whose?"

"Yours," the disembodied voice answered. "And your father's."

Christine thought he entire body would burst, "What! Who are you?"

"The Angel of Music."

Christine backed to the wall slowly and sank down against it. Her legs wouldn't support her any longer. "It-it can't be…I've waited so long…"

"You never doubted me a day of your life, Christine. You were patient and hopeful. I believed you were ready." Her body felt ridden with guilt and her face burned with embarrassment. "Are you all right, Christine?" the voice asked with concern, "You look flushed."

Christine gulped, "I'm-I'm fine. Just a little…" her voice trailed off.

"I understand this is intense for you."

She was silent for a long time. She simply could not believe it. _The Angel of Music? How?_

"Christine?"

She was called away from her thoughts and asked, "What do you want? Why are you here?"

"To train you."

"Train-?"

"To sing. I've listened to you and you have great talent, my child." Christine murmured her thanks. "I could teach you to sing greater than anyone across all of Europe. You could light up the stages from England to Amsterdam. All I need to know is are you willing to become my pupil?"

She didn't give it a second thought. "Yes! Yes, of course!"

"Excellent. All we need is a time and place."

Christine thought for a while, "The extra-dressing room. I use it sometimes…The Louis-Phillipe Room. No one even passes by it."

"You are certain we will not be disturbed in the Louis-Phillipe Room?"

Christine nodded, "Positive."

"Very well. Could you perhaps be there at nine o' clock tomorrow evening."

"Yes." She said.

"Then I shall see you tomorrow evening. Sleep well, Christine."

"W-wait!" she called out into the darkness, "Please, angel…how is my father?"

There was silence and Christine feared he had already gone, but he hadn't, "He is well. He talks often of you, Christine."

She smiled and let out a small sob, then he was gone. Slowly, one by one, the candles flickered back on. Christine instantly got up as she heard her name being called out again for the second time this evening.

"Christine!" Meg Giry walked into the chapel and ran to her friend. "Christine! My God, where were you?" She gasped as she saw her scratched and slightly bleeding palms. "What happened to your hands? Come on, I'll get that fixed right up." Meg took Christine by her wrist and realized how cold she was. "Christine, you're freezing!" She looked up into her pale face, "Are you all right? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Christine smiled. _Even better_, she thought.


End file.
